


Evil Prevails

by Sunfreckle



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But none of it happens on screen, Corruption, Crime AU, Defiant Jehan, Enjolras as a gang leader, Gang AU, Les Amis - Freeform, M/M, Mention of Knives, Mention of criminal activity and violence, Mention of guns, Other, Patron-Minette - Freeform, Police, Protective Enj, Sarcastic R, Smirking Parnasse, This is mostly an excuse for:, and
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-30 07:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12648831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfreckle/pseuds/Sunfreckle
Summary: ...When Good Men Fail To ActThe members of Les Amis all grew up in this neighbourhood, theylovethis neighbourhood, it'stheirneighbourhood.Which is why they're willing to cross lines to protect it. Lines and laws.Modern Crime/Gang AU garnished with fluff, meant to showcase how Enjoltaire and Jehanparnasse would work in this setting.





	1. Wolf At the Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in response to a prompt from a lovely anon on tumblr, with a heartfelt thank you to everyone that gave suggestions when I didn't know how to answer it.

When Grantaire gets home there are two men waiting in front of the door of his apartment. He takes a step back, but they’ve already seen him.

“Mister Grantaire.”

Grantaire puts on a grimace that might pass for a smile.  _Police_. He’s not in the mood for police today.

One of the men puts himself forward and gives him a thin, glib smile that couldn’t be less sincere if he tried. “I am Detective Inspector Thénardier,” he says. “And this is my colleague Detective Inspector Javert, we have come for a chat.”

“Have you now,” Grantaire replies, eying them both up and down. He knows who they are. About Thénardier he knows so much it’s kind of ridiculous that Thénardier doesn’t know anything about him. But then again, the guy never did pay enough attention to his children’s whereabouts. When it comes to Javert though, Grantaire has only second hand information. And what he has heard is very different to what he knows about his colleague, which is why he makes direct eye contact with Javert, but  _not_  with Thénardier.

Javert stays silent.

“If you’d be so kind,” Thénardier says, gesturing to the door.

“Don’t seem to have much choice, do I,” Grantaire grunts and he unlocks the door.

The detectives follow him inside. Thénardier walks just a little too close behind him and it’s Javert that closes the door.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” Thénardier says, glancing around at the brick walls and high ceilings with exposed beams and pipes. “Very…artistic.”

“Thinking about becoming neighbours?” Grantaire asks flatly, throwing his coat on a chair. He doesn’t sit down and doesn’t offer the detectives a seat either, instead he stands and looks at them, arms crossed.

“Mister Grantaire,” Inspector Javert begins and his tone has more of politeness to it than Thénardier’s. “I think you know why we’re here.”

“I don’t,” Grantaire replies. “Haven’t got a clue what this is about.”

“It’s about your involvement with Les Amis de ABC,” Thénardier says smoothly. “Your very recent involvement I might add.”

Grantaire keeps a straight face. Recent. Right. “I don’t have anything to do with them,” he says. He gestures sharply around the room. “I’m a damn freelance artist, how would I get tangled up in a gang?”

“I see,” Thénardier nods, folding his hands behind his back. “And what about Benoît Enjolras? Did you get tangled up with him?”

Even though he knew it was coming, Grantaire still feels a knot tighten in his stomach when they mention his name. Still, he manages to keep both his voice and expression the right kind of suspiciously concerned as he answers: ”Enjolras? What has Ange got to do with this?”

A sneering smile appears on Thénardier’s face, but Javert steps forward and says earnestly: “We know you have a relationship with him.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire says. “So what?”

Javert clears his throat. “We believe that you are not personally involved with Les Amis-”

“Good, cause I’m  _not_ ,” Grantaire interrupts roughly.

Javert’s eyes shoot him a warning glance and he continues gravely: “-but mister Enjolras is.”

Grantaire blinks. “That’s ridiculous,” he says sharply. “Ange would never-”

“He’s the head of the organisation,” Thénardier breaks in. “And if you grew up around here you’d know there has hardly been a month since he was fourteen that he didn’t spend a night in a cell.”

This time Grantaire almost smiles. Because if that were true, they wouldn’t be here. Enjolras’ rap sheet is long, sure, but it stops right around his twentieth birthday. That’s when he started to care about not getting caught. He waits a moment until he’s sure his voice won’t give anything away and then he says defensively: “I know he got in trouble as a kid, so did I. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“We realise this is not easy to hear,” Javert says, voice stern. “But we tell this for your own protection.”

Well, that’s a load of crap, but by now Grantaire is kind of getting into playing the shocked lover and he gives Javert a dismayed look. “My protection?” he echoes.

“When you hang around with criminals you get hurt,” Thénardier says coolly. “That’s just how it is. If we can find you, the rival gangs can find you. I’m sure you don’t want to wake up one night with the Patron-Minette at your door, do you?”

Javert makes a sound at the back of his throat and Grantaire looks at him, seriously wondering if what he heard about him is true.

“Not to mention what your lovely boyfriend might do when he finds out you know who he is,” Thénardier continues.

Grantaire turns abruptly away from them both. “Ange would never hurt me,” he snaps and this time at least half of the emotion in his voice is real.

“He will,” Thénardier says. “Only a matter of time.”

In an effort to seem appropriately distressed, Grantaire begins to pace through the room. He hugs himself and digs his fingers into his sides a little, because his hands a are  _itching_  to smack Thénardier in his smug face. He turns his back on Thénardier to look at Javert for a moment. “It’s not true,” he says. “It can’t be.” When he turns away again, he can just see Javert and Thénardier exchange a glance from the corner of his eye.

Thénardier clears his throat. “Mind if I use your bathroom?”

Grantaire looks at him. He hadn’t expected them to split up, but that’s actually kind of convenient… “Sure,” he says. “That way, first door.”

Thénardier walks off and Grantaire is left alone with Javert, who looks uncomfortable and grave. Grantaire waits. Clearly the detectives expect him to trust Javert over Thénardier, so Javert is probably going to try and say something nice now.

“Did you paint this?” Javert asks, looking at the brightly coloured mural that covers nearly one entire wall.

“Yes,” Grantaire says, hiding a smirk.

Javert’s eyes pass over the tangle of lines and shapes. “It’s…impressive. I’m afraid I never understood abstract art.”

“Nothing to understand,” Grantaire says.

Javert turns to look at him, face as grave as ever, but with sympathy hidden in the grooves. “This is a lot to come to terms with all at once,” he says. “But the truth is that Enjolras is dangerous and we might need your help to protect you and this neighbourhood against him and his so called friends.”

“Really?” Grantaire says and he makes a decision. He lowers his voice, dropping the pretence of distress with it. “Is it really Les Amis we need protection against?”

Javert blinks in surprise and Grantaire continues, looking him straight in the eye:

“If the Patron-Minette come to my door, it might as well be because Thénardier tipped them off. He’s on their payroll, like seventy percent of the detectives in your department.”

“You-” Javert begins.

“Yeah, I know,” Grantaire cuts him off. “I know about Enjolras, I know about Les Amis, I’m  _part_  of Les Amis.” He sounds proud, because he is. More proud than he’s been of pretty much anything in his life.

The lack of shock on Javert’s face is a credit to his character, but he can’t hide all his feelings. He goes very silent, which gives Grantaire time to smile pityingly at him.

“I know a little about you too,” he says. “By now you must be the only inspector on the force that has never taken a bribe. From anyone.” He glances towards the hallway, but Thénardier is taking a conveniently long time. “Doesn’t it disgust you? Having to work with someone like him?”

A resentful line tightens around Javert’s jaw.

“You look me in the eye, Inspector Javert,” Grantaire hisses. “You look me in the eye and tell me Les Amis are the  _problem_  in this neighbourhood, instead of the reason half the people around here still dare to cross the street at night.”

Javert swallows.

“I think you’re right, Inspector,” Grantaire says. “You  _do_  need my help to protect this neighbourhood, but you’re wrong about who you’re protecting it from.”

The Inspector turns abruptly away, staring blankly at the mural again.

Grantaire waits, heart beating loudly in his chest. He just took a huge risk. Javert is a cop. An astonishingly incorrupt one, but a cop all the same. Strictly speaking none of what he just told him means anything. There’s no evidence he said it. Javert has nothing to use against him. But he might tell Thénardier and then the police department might start paying actual attention to him and that is really not something he wants.

“You have to understand…” Javert speaks up suddenly, still looking at the mural. “That I have good reason to be concerned.”

“I’m sure,” Grantaire says, wondering where he’s going with this.

“For instance,” Javert says, turning towards him. “I am concerned about not having enough men on the street to keep the peace on Thursday night.”

Grantaire gives him a silent look. He knows what Javert means. When the right people tell the police to stay away from a specific location for a certain amount of time, they do it.

“It is so hard,” Javert says stiffly. “To keep an eye on everything.” He clears his throat again and mutters some very specific street corners.

“It’s a big neighbourhood,” Grantaire replies calmly.

“It is indeed,” Javert says. His hands are clasped together in a very cramped way. “I would send my colleague,” he adds. “But I fear he would run into some old friends.”

“I’m sure a man as charming as Inspector Thénardier has a lot of friends,” Grantaire smiles vacantly.

“Yes,” Javert says. “A great many. Too many to keep an eye on. And…people get so restless at night. Between eleven and three there is hardly a moment’s peace in the control room.”

“Well that does cover the witching hours,” Grantaire hums. “Who knows, maybe I know some people who might work some magic of their own.”

Javert gives him a look wrought with inner conflict and Grantaire manages a wry smile. “Don’t look like you’ve sold your soul, Inspector. The devil is down the hallway.”

Before Javert can answer there’s the sound of the toilet flushing and Grantaire, with a renewed flourish, runs his hands through his hair as anxiously as he can.

“I can’t-” he agonizes, just as Thénardier appears in the doorway. “I- I need to think this over.”

“I think it might be best to leave mister Grantaire to his thoughts for now,” Javert says to his colleague.

“Of course,” Thénardier says with a decided hint of condescension.

“Please,” Javert says, taking out his card. “Contact me if you wish to talk.”

Grantaire bites his lip and nods, taking the card from him without making eye contact.

“Good afternoon then, mister Grantaire,” Thénardier smirks. “We’ll see ourselves out.” As he turns away, Javert glances back at Grantaire with a grim sort of discomfort.

Grantaire gives him a crooked grin and twirls the card between his ink stained fingers.

Javert bows his head and follows his colleague, closing the door behind him with a thump.

Grantaire takes in a deep breath and breathes out with a snort. “Fucking hell,” he coughs. Thénardier needs to dial down on the aftershave. He lets out a sharp laugh. He doubts this was Thénardier’s idea. It probably came from higher up. It wouldn’t surprise him if Thénardier volunteered to go when he heard Javert had. Grantaire snaps his fingers idly and wonders how Enjolras would like the idea of having a man on the inside of the police force himself for once. Because if this goes well, that might be what they are getting out of this.

There’s a sudden sound at the door and for a moment of annoyance Grantaire thinks the detectives have come back. But then the sound is followed by Enjolras’ distinctive knock and his shoulders relax. He opens the door and Enjolras steps inside immediately.

“Are you okay?” he ask urgently, not even giving him time for a greeting. “Gavroche said he saw his father coming out of your building. Him and another cop.” His fingers are twitching, if Grantaire didn’t know him he might be afraid.

“I’m fine,” Gantaire says dismissively.

Enjolras’ eyes are fixed on him intently, bright and blue under his hood. “What did they want?” he demands, looking around. “They didn’t take anything, did they?”

“Ange, calm down,” Grantaire says, trying to hush him.

Enjolras doesn’t calm down. “What did they want?” he repeats. “If they threatened you-”

“They just came to tell me my boyfriend is a heinous criminal,” Grantaire smiles.

Enjolras huffs, eyes still snapping fire. “They came over just for that?” he demands.

“Yeah,” Grantaire hums. “You’d think they have nothing better to do.” He puts a hand on Enjolras’ arm. “I’m  _fine_  Ange,“ he repeats, looking up at him earnestly.

Enjolras holds still and lets out a slow breath. “Sorry.” He pulls off his hood and gives Grantaire a pained smile. “I was worried.”

“No need for that,” Grantaire says amusedly. “I can hold my own.”

“I know, I know,” Enjolras mutters. “I just-” Instead of finishing that sentence he wraps his arms around Grantaire, pulling him tight against his chest for a moment.

Grantaire hugs back, smiling into Enjolras’ hoodie. He appreciates the protectiveness, but it’s not like he hasn’t had much worse to deal with than pushy cops. Even before he met Enjolras. And on that note-

“Seems like you’ll have something to do on Thursday,” he hums when Enjolras finally releases him.

“Really?” Enjolras asks, following him to the open space that doubles as living room, kitchen and sometimes even bedroom. “Did the sainted inspectors let something slip?”

“Slip isn’t exactly the right word,” Grantaire chuckles. “The second one was Javert.”

Enjolras hums. “And what did Javert have to say.”

They hold still in front of the wall with the mural. It isn’t an abstract. It’s a map. A map of the whole neighbourhood and those adjoining it. Detailed too, if you know how to read it.

“He said,” Grantaire says, pointing at the map. “That Patron-Minette has instructed to clear  _this_  area of police presence from eleven to three on Thursday night.”

Enjolras slants his head and frowns. “Any clue what it is about?” he asks.

“Nope,” Grantaire shakes his head.

Enjolras snarls. “Right next to the damn community centre, ugh.” He runs a hand through his long hair. “I’ll send Jehan and Feuilly to negotiate, they seemed to have quite a bit of luck getting through to Montparnasse last time.”

Grantaire nods. That’s certainly better than confronting them directly on the night in question. He’s not entirely that sure Enjolras completely comprehends the possible consequences of sending Jehan every time, but that’s a discussion for another night.

There’s a change in Enjolras’ demeanour and he turns away from the map to smile at Grantaire. “How nice of Inspector Javert to go through the proper channels of getting information to me.”

“Hey,” Grantaire chuckles. “For the last time, I signed up to be your boyfriend, not your knowledge broker.”

“I can’t help it that people trust you on sight,” Enjolras smiles fondly.

That’s only part of it though. Yes, Grantaire knows how to make people feel at ease and he’s easy to talk to. But by now everyone around here knows who he’s connected to. They know that if you tell your troubles to Grantaire, there’s a good chance they’ll disappear.

“Was this a quick ‘do I need to go full angel of vengeance on someone’-visit or will you stay if I make us risotto?” Grantaire asks, pulling on Enjolras’ hand.

“I can let Ferre know I’ll be back later,” Enjolras says, leaning forward to kiss him.

Grantaire ghosts his lips against his and then moves away from him, walking to the fridge. “Can you let him know you’ll be back tomorrow morning?”

Enjolras laughs. “You think that would be best?” he asks, wrapping his arms around Grantaire from behind when he has closed the fridge door.

“Speaking as your knowledge broker,” Grantaire says gravely. “I really do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is revolting to me to make Thénardier of the same standing as Javert, but at least this way I can show how far apart they actually are morally speaking. (I was never going to make Javert the baddie, I am far too fond of him.)


	2. Positively Shakespearean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a comment from Azura! So thanks to them and also to my Shakespeare savvy sister.
> 
> Cw: mention of guns/knives, conflict between friends (I feel that needs a warning when it comes to my writing) but it’s me, you know it’s going to end in cuddles.

It is uncharacteristically quiet in the backroom of the Musain. Enjolras is speaking in the low, restrained voice he uses when he is keeping a tight hold on his emotions, but everyone can tell how agitated he is. He has good reason to be so.

“I don’t know if this shipment of guns is supposed to be passing through or distributed here, but either way it’s not happening,” Enjolras finishes his explanation. “We’re intercepting it and we’re getting rid of it, end of story.”

Everybody nods. The last thing their neighbourhood needs is more guns on the street.

“Now these are outsiders,” Enjolras says grimly. “They don’t know this place like we do, so we have a definite advantage. But we might not be the only ones that know about this deal going down, so someone else might try to step in.”

Jehan raises their head from where they are sitting in between Feuilly and Grantaire. “If you mean the Patron-Minette,” they speak up. “They know about it, but they won’t try to interfere.”

Enjolras’ eyes dart to Jehan. “How do you know,” he says sharply.

Whatever quiet noise the Amis had been making ceases completely. Feuilly and Grantaire glance at Jehan, most of the others keep their eyes fixed on random objects like the floor or their own hands.

Jehan doesn’t answer their leader, they just look at him with self-willed defiance.

“Jehan,” Enjolras says in the same tone of voice and Jehan bristles internally at being spoken to like a disobedient child.

Instead of voicing this, they say curtly: “I thought we were making a plan? All I wanted to say was that the Patron-Minette will not try to take this shipment. I have nothing else to add.”

Enjolras and Jehan are still staring at one another, both now with heightened colour on their cheeks. For a tense moment no one says anything and then Courfeyrac tries:

“Maybe a short break-”

“Courfeyrac, Combeferre,” Enjolras interrupts abruptly. “Can you make a start with the logistics, please?”

Courfeyrac and Combeferre – who are only not referred to as Enjolras’ lieutenants because he forbids it – silently nod their agreement.

“Thank you,” Enjolras say. He turns towards Jehan. “Jehan, will you step outside with me for a minute?”

Jehan has half a mind to stay put. If they’re being treated like a child they might act like one. But Feuilly gives them an uncomfortable look and they think the better of it. “Sure,” they say and they get to their feet, following Enjolras out of the room.

Enjolras waits for them to close the door behind them until he begins in a restrained, but agitated manner: “Jehan, I do not want you hanging around the Patron-Minette.”

Jehan doesn’t answer. They don’t want to answer.

“I know I sent you over there a couple of times,” Enjolras says, looking at them earnestly. “But-”

“You know I can go places without you sending me, right?” Jehan snaps.

Enjolras shuts his mouth, looking surprised at first and then a little hurt. “Jehan I’m only-”

“Only looking out for me,” Jehan finishes impatiently. “Well you don’t have to. I can take care of myself. That’s why I’m here, remember? I’m more capable than I look.”

Enjolras’ squared shoulders sag a little. “You’re here because we are friends,” he says, painfully earnest. “That’s the reason we’re all here, isn’t it?”

Jehan’s expression softens a little. Enjolras genuinely cares, they know that. “Alright,” they say. “So be my friend instead of our ‘first among equals’-leader for a bit.”

Enjolras’ expression darkens again. “Fine,” he says grimly. “Jehan, as your friend, I’m telling you to stay away from Montparnasse.”

Angry sparks snap in Jehan’s eyes. “You don’t get to tell me that,” they scowl. “I said be my friend, not my-”

“Montparnasse is  _dangerous_ ,” Enjolras cuts in hotly.

Jehan stares at him. “Enj, our friends are in the next room planning how to steal a shipment of rifles from a bunch of smugglers.”

“That doesn’t mean-”

“We’re all criminals, Enjolras,” Jehan says bluntly. “All of us.”

“There is a  _difference_ -” Enjolras growls, but Jehan doesn’t want to listen to him anymore.

They know what they are. They know what Montparnasse is. They don’t care. “I’m leaving,” Jehan says decidedly. “I love you Enj, but I don’t want to hear you right now.”

“Jehan  _don’t_ ,” Enjolras pleads.

“I’ll check in with R,” Jehan says, pacing away. They are  _angry_  and they  _dislike_  being angry.

“ _Jehan!_ ” Enjolras calls after them.

Jehan keeps walking. They grab their coat and backpack on the way out and burst through the door and out into the cold night air with anger burning in their chest. They are angry at themself for fighting with Enjolras. They are angry at Enjolras for telling them what to do. They are angry at the crates of guns being carried through  _their_ streets. They are angry at pretty much everything right now.

Their feet have started running of their own accord and Jehan has gone a few blocks before they even realise where they are going. Well, they’re halfway there now, might as well.

The cold air has done very little to cool them down, their cheeks are still burning and it still feels like their heart is trying to scorch through their chest. When they reach the familiar, slightly shabby building, however, the hotness in their chest has at least started to fade into a different kind. Jehan carefully circles the building. There are still lights shining behind the ground floor windows. They carefully stick to the shadows and canvas the side of the building. They know which window it is…

Silently Jehan takes off their shoes and digs their climbing shoes out of their backpack. They don’t need a drainpipe or fire escape, a brick wall will do just fine.

The window is a little hard to get open with only one hand at their disposal, but they manage. And silently enough to allow them to slip inside without disturbing the figure lying in the bed. When they take a step towards the bed, however, the floor lets out a warning creak.

Montparnasse is upright in a second and Jehan hears the click of a blade in the dark.

“It’s me,” they say softly.

Montparnasse’s face is just visible in the vague light that comes through the window, because the city is never truly dark. “Jehan?” he says after a beat of silence.

“Yes,” Jehan smiles.

Montparnasse swings his legs over the side of the bed and Jehan hears that metallic click again as he pushes something back underneath his pillow. “How did you-” Montparnasse makes a surprised and certainly impressed noise. “Did you come through the window?”

“Yeah I did,” they grin, walking up to the bed now they know it’s safe. “You should invest in some security measures.”

Montparnasse snorts and turns on the lamp on his bedside table, bathing the room in soft light. “I don’t need security,” he points out. “I have my reputation. No one is insane enough to break in here.”

Jehan slants their head with a smile.

“Present company excluded,” Montparnasse hums, a grin forming on his lips. He gets to his feet, maybe not fully comfortable with Jehan looking down at him for a change, and reaches for their hand. “What brings you here?”

“You,” Jehan says honestly, enjoying the careful way Montparnasse curls his fingers around theirs.

“I kind of flattered myself that was the case,” Montparnasse smirks. “But…why now?”

Jehan sucks on their bottom lip and averts their eyes. They don’t really want to tell Montparnasse about the clash with Enjolras. Is that even the reason they’re here? They hardly know the real reason. Thinking back it’s like they didn’t even stop to think why they were intent on running all the way here and climbing up the wall. They just wanted to. Jehan blushes in the dark. They have never done anything like this before. Well, they’ve climbed through a lot of windows, but never with the intent of- What is their intent again?

“I just wanted to see you,” they say finally, looking up into Montparnasse’s face again. His expression is pleased and a little puzzled and, Jehan sees now, still a bit sleepy. He’s fully awake, but the remnants of sleep are still ghosted across his features. His hair is messy too and he’s wearing pyjama’s. Jehan smiles. They have never seen Montparnasse out of his fancy clothes. That train of thought makes their cheeks flush again, but they push through the flutter of shyness and close what little distance there still was between them and Montparnasse. “Can I stay?” they ask softly.

Montparnasse smiles. “As long as you like,” he offers.

Jehan can feel their own face shining and they push themself up on their toes until they can reach high enough to kiss him.

Montparnasse kisses them back, leaning down until they can lower themself back onto their heels again. His hands reach up to gently cup their face and Jehan melts into him. They know Enjolras is right. Montparnasse is dangerous. But so are they. And Montparnasse is also this. And so are they.

They pull away with a smile and Montparnasse sits back down on the edge of the bed while Jehan shoots him a grin and takes off their shoes.

“What the hell are those?” Montparnasse grunts, squinting at the footwear Jehan stuffs back into their backpack.

“Something that’s more useful than fashionable,” Jehan quips.

“Do you have a similar explanation for that shirt?” Montparnasse asks, stretching himself out on his bed again.

Jehan laughs softly. “No,” they say. “This shirt is softer than it is fashionable though.” It’s also very long, which is why they feel alright about taking off their trousers and crawling into bed with Montparnasse wearing only that and their underwear.

Montparnasse rests a hand on their waist, pretending to only be feeling the fabric. “You’re right,” he hums and Jehan smiles.

They nestle themself against Montparnasse under the covers and try to drink in as much as they can of the feeling that washes over them right now. It’s the strangest combination of feeling safe and secure, while being all too aware of the risks they are taking. It makes their skin glow warm and their heart beat stronger.

“I take it Mr Righteous doesn’t know you’re here?” Montparnasse hums, stroking Jehan’s hair out of their face.

“I think he might this time…” Jehan mumbles.

Montparnasse gives him a curious look, but Jehan still doesn’t feel like talking about it, so they press a kiss on the edge of his jaw and cuddle a little closer. Luckily Montparnasse can take a hint. He reaches out and turns off the light, before burying his face in Jehan’s hair and muttering:

“I might need written proof that you snuck in here all on your own.”

“Proof against what?” Jehan says amusedly. “The accusation that you snatched me off the street and carried me here?” They turn their head to give him a challenging look. “I would like to see you try, monsieur Montparnasse.”

Montparnasse’s eyes shine in the dark. “Don’t tempt me, Jehan Prouvaire.”

Jehan catches his lips with their own, making an earnest effort to taste on Montparnasse’s mouth what he just heard in his voice and they only break apart when there is a buzz from underneath the second pillow on the bed, that Jehan has temporarily claimed as their own.

They and Montparnasse both sleep with something important to them under their pillow. It just happens to be two very different things.

Montparnasse makes a disgruntled noise when Jehan rolls away from him, but he does nothing to stop them. They take their phone and glance at the message. It’s from Grantaire.

 **R** : Two households, both alike in dignity

Jehan pulls a face and rolls back into Montparnasse’s arms, taking their phone with them. They had promised they’d check in.

Montparnasse closes his eyes against the light and hums: “Checking up on you?”

“It’s only R,” Jehan replies.

Montparnasse hums again, but makes no comment. He knows Grantaire better than he does the rest of the Amis. They share acquaintances in Gavroche and Éponine.

Before Jehan can send a reply, another message arrives.

 **R** : Forgive me for disturbing you in your only love sprung from your only hate, but the golden haired head of the house of Montague refuses to rest. (he’s driving me insane)

Jehan smirks a little and sends back: “Tell him I’m fine.”

 **R** : Do I need to warn you about violent delights?

Jehan snorts. “Goodnight R,” they send quickly and then they lay their phone aside again.

“What did he want, proof of life?” Montparnasse snorts.

“I think he mostly wanted to shut Enj up,” Jehan hums, nuzzling Montparnasse’s neck. Grantaire is probably doing something similar to Enjolras right now to make him come to bed and stop fretting. They sigh and close their eyes. They’ll make up with Enjolras tomorrow, they won’t give him his way, but they will make up with him. For now he can be Grantaire’s problem though. They hum appreciatively when Montparnasse’s fingers thread through their hair and they press a kiss against his collarbone, letting their mouth linger a little too long.

“Careful,” Montparnasse mutters. “I could get used to this.”

Jehan kisses him again. So could they.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where this will end for now, this universe is a little too dark for me to really get into it. But I did love doing something different for a change and maybe I'll revisit it if I get any more ideas.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Bonus: Stolen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The anon who originally requested this au sent me a message on tumblr asking how R and Enj would have met in this story and this resulted in 400 words of rambling and a 1k 'getting together' ficlet.
> 
> Aesthetically I like this story as a two-parter, but this is kind of cute and I didn't want people who don't follow me on tumblr to miss it.

Grantaire is the only one of the Amis that  _didn’t_  grow up in the neighbourhood they are protecting. He moves there looking for a cheap place to live. He makes friends with j/b/m first and then Jehan and Bahorel and Enjolras keeps hearing more and more about this funny artist person and he’s really not sure what he thinks of his friends hanging out with an outsider so much. But then Bossuet introduces them and before Enj knows what is going on Grantaire has made him angry, made him laugh  _and_  made him blush, all in a space of ten minutes. Enjolras knows he’s screwed before they’ve even finished their drinks.

Not that he does anything about it except vaguely try to be near R.  
Grantaire thinks Enjolras’ attention is at least 50% disapproval, but he really likes Enjolras so all he does is being flippant and a bit flirty. Their friends all watch in fascination, but don’t intervene.

I am indeed all about the fluff and that means R would find out Enj is a criminal  _before_  they start dating. Les Amis have a certain reputation after all and it really isn’t too subtle that whenever Grantaire tells any of them about the problems he sees around him, just on the street or affecting the people in his new building, they seem to magically disappear. When he finds out, he is not nearly as shocked as he could have been and to Enjolras surprise (and secret joy) almost his first reaction is that he wants to join. (The whole group is delighted, because Grantaire makes a great addition.) Naturally that means they spend more time together and that they see different sides of each other, so they can get past their rather stupid way of communicating a bit and actually become friends that understand each other.

They don’t get together until Grantaire’s car gets broken into and apart from some random stuff he doesn’t care about, one of his folders with sketches goes missing. It’s not valuable, they must have just taken it because it was there and they were in a hurry. Grantaire is heartbroken, he tells everyone they’re ‘just sketches’ and not to worry about it, but it feels like he’s lost a piece of his soul. So of course the next night Enjolras shows up at his door:

 …

Grantaire had not expected Enjolras. Not at this hour. Jehan or Bahorel, yes, maybe Bossuet, but not Enjolras.

“I know it’s late,” he says before Grantaire can even say a word. He sounds kind of apologetic, but mostly just urgent. Whatever it is, it must be important.

“No, don’t worry about it,” Grantaire shakes his head. “Come in.”

Enjolras steps inside and as soon as the door falls shut behind him he opens his bag and begins to take something out. “Here,” he says tensely. “This is-”

“You’re  _shitting_ me!” Grantaire snatches the tattered black folder out of Enjolras’ hands. This is his. These are his stolen sketches. He opens it with hands that are actually trembling. It really is his. Grantaire lets out a breath that he didn’t know had been holding since yesterday. He’s got his drawings back. All of them. “What the  _fuck_  Enjolras,” he says, looking up into Enjolras’ vaguely smiling face. “How the hell did you find it?”

Enjolras clears his throat awkwardly, but his face is full of defiance. “I knew where to look.”

Grantaire does not believe that for a second. Cars get broken into by all sorts. Kids, loners and actual organized groups alike. There is no way Enjolras could have just known where to go. Grantaire exhales again, closing the folder, but gripping it tight enough to make his knuckles go white.

“Are you…are you glad?” Enjolras asks, suddenly sounding uncertain.

Glad? Grantaire looks up at him in incredulity. “ _Glad?_ ” he echoes. “Enj, I could fucking kiss you.”

The words have left his mouth before he can stop them, but who cares. It’s true. It’s always true, but at least under the current circumstances he can say it without weirding Enjolras out.

“Could or would?”

Grantaire blinks. Enjolras is looking at him with an unfamiliar expression on his face. Maybe Grantaire weirded him out after all. “What?” he manages.

Enjolras is standing very still and his eyes are fixed on Grantaire so decidedly that Grantaire can’t look away either. “Could you,” Enjolras says in a low voice. “Or  _would_  you? Kiss me, I mean.”

Grantaire stares at him and he really wishes his mouth would check with his brain first before it starts blabbering, because he hears himself say: “I could, but I wouldn’t, because as romantic as showing up at my door late at night with the stolen pieces of my soul is, I think I can control myself.”

A slightly puzzled look passes across Enjolras’s face and Grantaire doesn’t blame him.  _He_  doesn’t even know what that meant. Whatever it was though, he should have said it out loud.

Enjolras is still looking at him, still standing very still and suddenly Grantaire gets the feelings he’s not just standing still, he’s keeping himself that way. There’s tension in his shoulders, there’s tension in his whole posture. Grantaire looks and says nothing. He’s still clutching the folder and he is genuinely unsure whether he should move away from Enjolras or stay put. He’s unsure if he’s even capable of moving away while he’s being looked at like that.

Suddenly Enjolras drops his gaze. “I…I had to look at the drawings to know if there were yours,” he says.

Grantaire clears his throat. “Don’t worry about it.” He’s not moving, even without Enjolras’ eyes on him. He’s kind of afraid that if he manages to move, it will be towards Enjolras, because that’s really the only direction he wants to go.

“I know you don’t like showing your sketches…” Enjolras says.

“Well, they’re not finished,” Grantaire answers, trying to talk through the tension in his chest. “And it’s not just sketches in there, it’s concepts, vague stuff for collages and-”

“There were sketches of me,” Enjolras interrupts him and his eyes meet Grantaire’s again.

Grantaire shuts his mouth. The feeling sliding down his back should be dread, but it isn’t. Because Enjolras has that same unfamiliar expression on his face as before, except this time Grantaire recognizes it. He’s just never seen that look in  _Enjolras’_  eyes. His heart jumps and Grantaire can feel heat rising to his cheeks. “Yeah…” he breathes. “I should have asked I guess…”

“I don’t mind,” Enjolras says. His voice almost a whisper now, but he’s so close Grantaire has no trouble hearing him. When did he get so close? Grantaire can feel his heart beating so fast he’s sure Enjolras must be able to hear it.

“I like them,” Enjolras continues. “Your drawings, I mean, they’re beautiful. They all are. But I like the ones you did of me.”

Grantaire nods silently. He’s not sure, of course he can’t be sure, but he really does think that Enjolras is looking at him like he-

“Maybe if you’d waited to ask me if you could draw me, you would have never done it?” Enjolras says, eyes almost pleading.

“Maybe,” Grantaire swallows. Enjolras doesn’t have to ask. If he wants what Grantaire thinks he does, he really doesn’t have to ask.

“There were more of me,” Enjolras points out hesitantly. “…than of the others.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire says hoarsely and he really can’t think right now. Because Enjolras, who walks around these streets like he belongs to them as much as they belong to him. Enjolras who never hesitates. Enjolras who is the leader of Les Amis and the protector of this whole neighbourhood despite not wanting to admit to being either.  _That_ Enjolras, is slowly lifting a hand to Grantaire’s face.

That is probably when Grantaire’s brain cuts out completely, because there seems to be no transition between that moment and the moment when he’s got his fingers curled around the front of Enjolras’ shirt and is being pressed back against the wall, Enjolras kissing him breathless. The folder with sketches is somewhere on the floor now and Grantaire doesn’t care. He tries to pull Enjolras even closer, despite that being pretty much impossible and doesn’t let go until they both have to break apart to breathe. Enjolras takes a single gulp of air before frantically pressing his lips against Grantaire’s again and muttering something unintelligible.

“What?” Grantaire asks, muffled and Enjolras pulls back a little, panting.

His hands are still in Grantaire’s hair and his own hair is rapidly turning into a wild halo of tussled curls, perfectly framing his face. “Will you go out with me?” he pants. “Please?”

Grantaire’s face breaks out in a grin.  _Please_. “Yes,” he says warmly and fire dances in his chest as he sees the spark of joy on Enjolras’ face. “But to be honest, I’d rather stay here.”

Enjolras laughs and he sounds so happy that Grantaire is almost sorry that he stops laughing to kiss him again. Almost.


End file.
